


❝if we can just make it to summer❞

by pamelahoney



Category: Dream Team (Minecraft), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay, GeorgeNotFound-centric (Video Blogging RPF), High School AU, M/M, Major Dreamnotfound, Mental Health Issues, Minecraft, Minor Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, No Sex, No Smut, Original Character(s), Romantic Fluff, Shipping, Substance Abuse, dream team, dreamnotfound, i don’t know what beta means lol, mcyt - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamelahoney/pseuds/pamelahoney
Summary: So this is a double upload of a fanfic i originally (and am still currently) writing on wattpad but i wanted it to be more widely available because i know we can’t get enough dnf -w- (ik probs no one will do this because i’m nobody but please don’t reupload unless it’s a translation okay thanks)in this au dream and george are in their senior year of high school and suffering from toxic home lives, loss, past trauma, abuse, occasional substance abuse/addiction, depression, etc etc. they meet and sparks start to fly. can they save each other? can they be together forever?all they have to do is make it to summer.
Relationships: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Female Character(s), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. September Morning (George POV)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormySkies538](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySkies538/gifts).



Beep, beep, beep.  
George groaned.  
He sleepily reached an arm out and fumbled his fingers on his phone until he could shut his alarm off. He sat up, dazed, staring at nothing in particular. He sat there for a solid five minutes before rubbing the night out of his eyes and standing up. His feet dragged like a zombie's on the cold hardwood floor. He shuffled to his bathroom, reaching for his toothbrush. His fluffy, disheveled, chocolate-brown locks draped over his forehead, a roof for his tired coffee eyes. Purple circles hung from his eyelids. His face bore an apathetic expression, his masculine yet soft features staring back at him. He grimaced.  
With a well-practiced motion, he squeezed some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and ran it quickly under some water, before running it across his teeth repeatedly. He spat his minty saliva into the sink, washing his toothbrush and face. He grabbed some deodorant and rubbed some on, before setting the tube back to its place on the white marble counter.  
George stumbled to his closet, flicking the light on and blinking his eyes, adjusting to the light. He ran his nimble fingers over the gentle fabrics of his clothes, deciding what to wear. He quickly checked the weather app on his phone to help him decide. The bright screen read High: 60, Low: 45. Cloudy, 10% chance of rain. Ah, a nice overcast day. Just how George liked it. The sun hurt his eyes and burned his pale skin, so he viewed the shade of the dark clouds as a sweet release. He eventually decided on a soft, color-block sweatshirt (the top half salmon, bottom half a creamy white) tucked into some ripped skinny jeans, held up with a black belt. He slid on some black boots and brought his gold necklace to the front of his shirt.  
He glanced at the gentle gold chain, the delicate golden heart charm catching the dull closet light. He bit his lip. Her initials were still engraved on the back of the cold metal. Not now, he thought. Now isn't the time to think of her.  
He turned his attention to his phone, checking the time. 6:50 am. He still had time. He slipped the phone with its simple, matte cream case into his pocket. He stumbled back to his bathroom mirror. He gazed at himself. He looked half-dead, his clothes hanging off his thin frame pitifully. His glazed-over eyes stared blankly back at him. He sighed. He was feeling insecure again. He checked the time again. 6:55 am. He slowly opened a drawer next to his sink. He reached for a small, cold metal object. He grasped it firmly between his right thumb and index finger. He rolled up his left sleeve. Faint white lines greeted him, marking all the previous times he had felt this way like milestones on a mountain path. He grazed the sharp metal along his forearm, and inhaled sharply. Thin red lines dragged in the razor's wake. After a few more lines, he washed the blade and returned it to its place, hidden in the darkness of the drawer. He grabbed some linen strips he kept hidden in the same drawer and wrapped them around his forearm tightly. He didn't care if he kept bleeding, he just didn't want to stain his sweatshirt.  
Once he had applied his bandages, he closed the drawer and rolled his sleeve back up. He sighed in relief. I feel better now, he told himself, having released some stress. He switched off the light in his bathroom and strode slowly across his room, gathering his things and shoving them sloppily in his plain black backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, and flicked open some sunglasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose. He walked cautiously out of his room, each step taken carefully and anxiously. He made it to the bottom of the stairs before his dad noticed him. "Where d'you think you're going dressed like that? Ya look like a fuckin' f*g, y'know that? No fuckin' son o' mine wearin' pink and gold necklaces like some fuckin' little girl." He paused to puff his cigarette. George grimaced at the scent. "We woulda all been better off if it was you that died instead o' her. A'least she was a good-for-somethin'." George bit his tongue. It was too early in the morning to deal with his dad's shit.  
He continued to the kitchen, where his mother lay slumped over the kitchen table, her brown hair spilling over her shoulders like alcohol spilled out of the jade green bottle in her unconscious hands. George filled a glass with cold water and chugged it. The cold liquid jolted him awake. He then quickly left the house, not bothering to grab breakfast, as per usual.  
The chill in the air seeped into his skin, even through his sweatshirt. He walked a couple blocks until he reached his bus stop, where he stood alone. He felt a buzz in his pocket, and saw he had a text.  
hey mamas man: ayo gogy, you outta that house yet?  
gogy: im at the bus stop, yea  
hey mamas man: yo pops give you any more trouble?  
gogy: just the usual "oi why you wearin' pink and a necklace shhcuwyfhbpcfyyfiqcyniflilw"  
hey mamas man: bruh if he going after style why not he look in the fuckin mirror, smh  
gogy: idk man  
hey mamas man: yea  
hey mamas man: you didn't do it again, did you? gogy: ...  
hey mamas man: george you gotta stop doing that, it not good for you  
gogy: ik ik ik, just like- needta relieve some stress, yk?  
hey mamas man: i get that bro, just like- not like that  
gogy: i trying man, i trying  
hey mamas man: ik ik ik.... just, try harder, okay? gogy: ok  
gogy: hey, the bus almost here, i gtg, alr? tty at school fam  
hey mamas man: aight fam. take care, cya there 

George slipped his phone back in his pocket as the big yellow beast of a bus pulled up to the curb, the doors opening with a sound like something out of a sci-fi movie. He climbed on the bus and took his usual seat at the back of the bus, leaning against the window. He plugged his ears with his earphones, and pressed play on his favorite playlist. The longing voice of carpetgarden filled his ears, the airy ukulele vibrating inside his skull. 

At school 

George stepped off the bus and onto the cracked concrete at the front of his school. Other students his age flocked to the many glass doors that guarded the foyer, the hum of conversation buzzing like a beehive. A girl in a delicate floral print dress and big hair clips walked past him, giggling with a tall, objectively handsome boy with dark skin. George turned his head down, trying to go unnoticed. He walked inside, and darted between other students to make his way to his locker.  
Once he reached his gray metal cabinet, nearly indistinguishable in the sea of identical lockers. He opened the door, placing his books inside and retrieving his history book, tucking it under his arm. Just as he was closing his locker, there was a painful slap against the side of his head, accompanied with a loud "I LIKE YA CUT G!" George's vision swam and he stumbled, disoriented. "Hey, Nick."  
"Heyyyyyyyyyy, Georgeeeeee!"  
"Hey mamas, where my hug at?" George mocked him.  
"Oh, shut up, that's not me." Nick laughed in mock annoyance.  
The two boys wandered the halls aimlessly, still having a solid half-hour before first period. They were just about to find a nice bench to sit at, when George accidentally bumped into someone. He heard the clickity-clack of a dropped pen. He bent down to pick it up, and he noticed something odd about the pen. It was a vape pen.  
"God, I'm sorry bro-" George started.  
"'S fine, just hand it here." A deep voice echoed in George's ears.  
He looked up to meet a pair of spaced-out green eyes, shining like dull emeralds. The boy's dirty blond hair was very fluffy, and stuck out in many ways. His face was tired, but warm and cozy. His strong nose was dusted with freckles, his tanned skin glowing like a forgotten hearth; embers still burning, only visible to the few lucky enough to stumble upon its warmth. His lips curved into a slight, aloof smile. A warm hand grazed George's fingers as the boy retrieved his vape pen.  
"Thanks, man." The deep voice showed gratitude. "No, uh, no problem..." George stammered.  
The boy stood up and walked off, the sound of his black Doc Martens meeting with the linoleum tiles resounding through the halls.  
George stayed kneeling on the floor for a second too long, then stood again. A loud voice sounded behind him, but it wasn't Nick's.  
"Simping for pretty boy, are ya, f*g?"  
"You fantasizin' 'bout cooking and cleaning and wearing a girly wedding dress?"  
"Get out of here with all that bullshit, you fucking pussy. You gays are what's ruining it all for the rest of us!" The first voice kicked George lazily, not thinking George was even worth his full effort.  
It was at this moment a familiar voice announced Nick's return. "Get the fuck outta here, Jason. At least George could get some action if he wanted, you gotta steal your baby sister's teddy bears to keep you company, fucking incel."  
The homophobe, Jason, glared at Nick, but backed off along with his friends. Nick was lean and muscular, and was one of the more athletic kids at school. Even bitches like Jason knew not to mess with Nick.  
Once Jason had left, Nick turned to George. "Hey, man, sorry about them. Ignore them, they're just salty they can't get any hoes. You alright, bro?" "Yeah, I'm alright. I get that a lot, I dunno why." "Did they just like, come up to you? What desperate whores, picking out random people to just harass."  
Nick had not seen the boy, George realized with relief.  
"Yeah. How bored do you have to be?"  
"For real though."  
A loud bell sounded throughout the building, announcing that it was time to start heading to first period. Nick and George waved goodbye, and parted ways to attend their different classes; History for George, Athletics/Football for Nick.


	2. September Morning (Clay Pov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the same day, from our dear Clay’s point of view <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the bottom for important notes
> 
> thank you for the support on this!

**TW: Vaping, substance abuse, neglect**

_ROOFOROOFOROFOROFOFOOROOF_

Clay startled awake at the loud sound of dogs barking. With a tired smile, he turned off his alarm. He rolled out of bed, shaking his navy sheets off his legs. He shuffled out of his room and into his bathroom, locking the door behind him. He quickly brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out with some green Listerine. He grabbed a black plastic comb and combed and teased his hair until it was fluffy as a cloud. 

His spacey eyes grinned back at him in the mirror. He made a small frown. His eyes always looked like that nowadays. _Maybe it's the weed in my vape,_ he thought. Clay shrugged. He didn't care much how the weed made his eyes look. It distracted him from everything, and that's all he wanted. He sighed, and splashed his face with some water, the cold knocking on the door of his right mind, only receiving disgruntled groans in response. The old Clay would remain hidden for now. 

He shuffled back to his room quickly, grabbing some clothes from his dresser to wear. He didn't bother checking the weather, he was only outside on the way to and from school anyway. He slipped on a thin, baggy, black-and-white-striped, long-sleeved shirt over some baggy ripped jeans. He pulled a silver chain over his head and let it rest over his neck, then putting on his favorite neon green dangly earring, which bore a mushroom as the charm. He also made sure to put a silver thumb ring on his left thumb. Chipped black nail polish decorated his fingernails, adding a small touch of femininity to his imposing figure. 

He walked back to his bathroom to add final touches to his appearance. He pulled out some eyeliner he stole from his ex-girlfriend's house, and proceeded to add a thin line on along his bottom eyelashes, being careful to not get any in his tired eyes. 

Once he had finished, he stepped back and took a good look at himself in the mirror, taking in his disheveled yet fashionable appearance. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, the case painted with neon green and black stripes with a trippy dripping effect. He aimed the phone at the mirror, and pulled at his eye with his free hand, sticking his tongue out all the while. He snapped a photo and posted it to his Snapchat, with the caption "g'morning hoes," and put his phone back in the pocket of his loose jeans. 

He walked out of the bathroom and back to his room momentarily, only to grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He stumbled down the old, creaky stairs, landing on the ground floor with a thud. His parents were gone, again. Clay didn't really care, he didn't like being around them anyway. He flung open the pantry door and snatched an old granola bar, unwrapping it and shoving it in his face. He crunched on it loudly as he slipped his feet into some tattered black Doc Martens, the occasional crumb falling out of his mouth. He glanced back at his messy house one last time before opening the old, heavy door, and stepping out into the crisp morning air. 

He slipped some earphones into his ears, pressing play. He hummed sporadically along to "Hayloft" by Mother Mother, striding haphazardly along the cracked concrete that made up the sidewalks of his bleak neighborhood. The cold air nipped at Clay's nose and ears, but he was too into the song to notice. 

**At school**

Clay finally arrived at the tall glass front of his school. Buses were still letting kids off, the exhaust blowing past him, momentarily bringing him some warmth. He pushed his way past some kids, and walked inside. He had no where to go until first period, which wasn't for a while, so he wandered the halls aimlessly, mind blank.

Suddenly, he felt something warm crash into his side, followed by a clinking of metal on the ground. _My vape_ , Clay thought, panicking. Then he heard a voice, a lovely, sweet tenor;

"God, I'm sorry bro-"

Clay calmed himself. The boy's voice just had that sort of effect.

"'S fine, just hand it here." Clay said calmly.

He looked down to see the boy kneeling before him, Clay's vape in hand. The boy had gentle, coffee colored eyes, wide like a doe's. He had soft-looking locks of chocolate hair. _Damn,_ Clay thought. _He even smells like chocolate._ The boy's pale skin (which, Clay noticed, was flawless) turned a bit rosy in the cheeks, almost as rosy as his lips, which were slightly open, as if he wanted to speak. Deep purple circles ringed his eyes, showing the familiar tiredness Clay knew all too well. A small golden locket gleamed on his collarbone, catching the light. He looked like if a cherub grew into a teenager.

The corners of Clay's mouth tilted upwards slightly, and he smiled, still staring at the boy. He moved his hand to meet the boy's. His fingers closed around the vape pen, discreetly brushing against the brunette boy's skin. 

"Thanks, man." Clay said kindly.

"No, uh, no problem..." the smaller boy stuttered.

Clay couldn't help but feel a little warmth in his heart.

He stood up and walked away before he could feel anything else.

**_888 words_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay um i feel so embarrassed- i’m used to wattpad and i’m not that good at the ao3 platform so i didn’t realize i could go check up on this, and lowkey forgot i posted it here at all- but thank you so much! i’m gonna go ahead and post two chapters in a row since it’s been ages since i updated this on here lol. i saw two people comment on it and whebsjjswjisej i promise i’ll reply, just need to get two of those chapters out. i’m still updating the fic on wattpad and will continue to update it here as i go. thank you for reading this, i hope you’re enjoying the book! (also finally found out how to use the rich text editor thing so apologies for no italics or bold in last chapter, that must have looked bad in some places. anyways hope you enjoy this, have a great day!


	3. “Daniels, are you alright?” (George Pov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> georgie is shaken up from his interaction with mister green man and this proves to make history class difficult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the classroom described in this is just me describing my own history class lmao

George hurried to his history class, almost dropping his textbook in the process. He slipped in undetected among the small flood of students entering the drab room. The grayish carpet was rough and slightly multicolored, as if it was spun from laundry lint. The walls were a dull white, with some scratches and places with the paint peeling. There was a noticeable hole in the wall that the teacher had made a failed attempt to hide with a desk. The ceiling was white drywall panels speckled with black. They weren't well taken care of, and one panel had an obvious square hole carved into it, allowing view of the crawlspace above. Ugly fluorescent lights were set in a grid pattern along the panels. 

George quietly took his seat along the right wall of the classroom, about a row away from the back. He pulled out a pencil and his dingy old binder and set them on top of his textbook. He shifted in the blue plastic chair, leaning over the back to pop his aching spine. He made sure not to lean back too far though, as to not disturb Honey-Leigh, the girl who sat behind him. He turned his gaze over to his teacher's old, glossy wooden desk. The petite, bored-looking woman was in her mid forties, and had hair that was a dark black, except for one elegant streak of white. She wore a long, flowing black skirt and a white blouse. She wore amethyst earrings with a matching necklace, and a purple beaded bracelet. The woman normally had blue eyes, but her purple jewelry gave her eyes a lavender hue.

The woman walked up to the board and wrote her name on it with a black dry erase marker that was running out of ink. _Mrs. Azalea._

"Hey, class, I know it's been a week or so already, but here's my name again in case some of you forgot. I'll just leave it here." Her voice was a bit deep yet heavily feminine, like some singer from the 40s or 50s. 

"I'll call for attendance now, okay? First, Renee Allan."

As Mrs. Azalea continued to call out names, George waited patiently for his own.

"George Daniels."

George mustered a meek "here," which seemed to suffice for his teacher. George stopped paying attention and spaced out, the chorus of 'here's becoming a gentle hum in the back of his mind.

"So, anyways, if you'll turn to page 50, I believe we're on chapter 1; "Early Life in America."

George opened his textbook and began reading along as Mrs. Azalea droned on about Native Americans, particularly the ones in the North. A few new bits of information caught his attention, and an artist's drawing of a wigwam just off an autumn lake in a birch forest made him stare in awe. History really was one of his favorite classes.

His attention was taken away when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, followed by a small slip of paper being tossed onto his desk, the delicate scrap of loose-leaf almost falling to the ground. He turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of Honey-Leigh snapping her head back down to her paper, feigning work. George slowly turned back around in his seat, grateful that Mrs. Azalea hadn't noticed the movement. He carefully unraveled the paper, to read a graceful, girly script;

_Hi George! I'm Honey-Leigh, I sit behind you in class! I've seen you around school for a year or two now, and I've left a couple notes in your locker._

George recalled the times he had found love letters with similar handwriting stuffed in the vent of his locker. He made a small grimace.

_I just wanted to say I think you're really hot, and maybe we could hang out sometime? I really really like you, please say yes uwu <3_

George suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Honey-Leigh was an objectively pretty girl, with flawless dark skin, amber eyes, small, luscious curls, a cute little nose, a petite figure, and a cute voice. She was a relatively attractive girl. George should've been ecstatic she liked him, any other guy would be. But he felt.... nothing. He flipped the note on its back and scribbled some hasty words on it. 

_Hey, Honey-Leigh, that's really sweet of you, but I don't feel the same. I'm really sorry, you seem like a really nice girl and you are pretty, I just don't feel that way about you. I hope you don't hate me for this._

He gingerly passed the note back to the anxious girl, and watched guiltily as he say her face fall. Then, her face morphed into a sad but earnest smile. She wrote hastily on the paper and passed it back to him. 

_It's okay, I understand. Thanks for breaking it to me gently, I appreciate it. Maybe we could hang out some time as friends? I've always wanted a gay best friend :D_

George's breath caught on the last sentence. Gay best friend? He wasn't gay, he didn't like guys. George pushed the boy with the vape out of his mind. He is not gay. He can't be gay. He just didn't feel attracted to Honey-Leigh. There's nothing wrong with that, right? That doesn't make him gay, right? Yeah, George isn't gay. George tried taking some deep breaths. Why did that rattle him so much? He should've just brushed it off. But why did Honey-Leigh think he was gay? Sure, he avoided women, but that's just after what happened to-

"Daniels, are you alright?" Mrs. Azalea inquired, concerned.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, sorry."

Mrs. Azalea opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the bell echoing through the hall. George relaxed his shoulders with relief. He quickly grabbed his things and hurriedly left the room. 

George Daniels would not be thought of as gay.

_**977 words** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe i hope you people like this! i would like to thank the author of heat waves for inspiring me to write my own dreamnotfound fanfic. i’d planned to write stuff before but their work really moved me (sounds cringe but if you actually step back and analyze their writing from a critical point of view, it’s phenomenal) and i think that’s why i’ve had so much motivation to write. also i’d like to announce i started making oneshots on wattpad as well so i’ll probably start posting those soon. hav a great day loves!!


	4. "Oh, come on, Dream Boy" (Clay PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heather is a bitch <3

The day had been going by pretty fast, it was already last period. Clay sat in his English class, listlessly making scribbles on the margins of his paper. He glanced out the window to his right. The gray clouds hung ominously yet lazily in the sky, like a sleeping bear blocking your path. He wondered if it would rain on the way home. He frowned, he didn't like getting his hair wet. 

He turned back to his paper. He was supposed to be writing an essay in the proper MLA format, on a topic of his choice. Clay was surprisingly a good student, about one of the only bits of Old Clay left after he began his drug addiction, so he understood the format just fine. It came naturally to him. The only problem was picking a topic. He rapped his pencil quietly against his desk, the slow taps forming a steady rhythm. Music. Clay liked music. That's what he could write about! He quickly thought of the specifics, and decided to write a brief biography on Ryan Guldemond, the lead singer of Clay's favorite band, Mother Mother. He knew everything about Ryan, from his favorite color to his native country, and he jotted it all down from memory.

Clay had become so engrossed in writing that he hadn't noticed when the girl beside him started tapping on his desk with her dull pencil. 

"Clay~"

No response.

"Clay!"

The girl became frustrated.

"CLAY SANDERSON!" The girl whisper shouted, tapping his shoulder angrily.

"Ow, damn Heather, what do you want?" Clay whispered, annoyed. The girl gave him a loopy smile. Clay wanted to slap it right off her face.

He looked at the girl. Her name was Heather Oak, and she lived up to that name. A total Heather, except contrary to Conan Gray's song, she wasn't an angel. Her personality was more like that of Heather Chandler, the red bitch from that one movie. She was gorgeous, with auburn hair and dark blue eyes. Her smile made other people smile, it was infectious. But sadly, her smile wasn't the only infectious thing about her. She was the one that got Clay into drugs, back when they started dating. Oh, yeah. Heather was Clay's ex-girlfriend. That girl was trouble, but she did use a nice eyeliner. 

"I wanna hang outttttttt" she whined, slurring her words a bit.

"Are you drunk?"

"Nooooooo, I just wanna hang outtt. I miss you. Maybe- maybe we get back together," Heather pleaded.

"No, Heather, you know what you did. We're never getting back together," Clay said firmly.

The girl rested her chin on her hands, thinking for a moment. After a little bit, she perked back up and spoke. 

"What if we have ourselves a little back-to-school party, huh? Kick off senior year right, yeah?"

"Where would we even have it, Heather? Your house is always full of boys you bring home," Clay's voice was seething with anger, he had held a grudge on that girl for a while now.

"Oh, Clay, no need to get so upset!" she exclaimed with puppy-dog eyes. "We- we could have it at your place, your parents are always out of town. Oh, please Clay, I just wanna hang out and have fun! Haven't you always wanted a big senior bash? Just like in the movies! Oh, please, Clay?" Heather was begging now, giving it her all. But her secret weapon had still not been used.

"Heather, no. You watch way too many chick flicks, damn-"

"Oh, come on, Dream Boy!"

Clay froze.

Heather smiled wickedly.

She had used the pet name she always used to call him when they were dating, the one that used to make him want to do anything for her. The name wasn't so endearing now, and only brought back painful memories of betrayal and loneliness. But maybe it was that he just wanted Heather to shut up, or it was some sort of Pavlov effect, but he relented.

"Fine. We can have the party at my place on Friday. But if you bring any of your guys over, you're out. Understand?"

Heather beamed like a little girl. "Oh, Clay, thank you, thank you thank you thank you!"

"Whatever. Now shut up and let me write my essay."

Heather, still bearing her shit-eating grin, sat back down in her seat and went back to her own essay.

Clay finished his essay early, being the fast writer he was. He skimmed over his penmanship, searching for grammar mistakes. After being satisfied with his paper, he slowly got up and dropped it off in the turn in box, careful not to disturb the silence of the room. After sitting back down, he figured he might as well scribble out some invites, to be polite. He already knew who he would invite. Definitely the whole football team, because even if he wasn't on it, they'd always been kind to him. Especially Nick Lovell, who he shared a science class with. 

The dismissal bell rang just as Clay finished writing all the invites. He quickly gathered his things and hurried to hand some out to his friends. Clay wasn't in much of a hurry himself, but he moved swiftly so as not to miss anyone who'd already left. He caught Nick just as he was walking out the foyer, and handed him the slip of paper grinning.

"See you there, yeah? Bring a plus one if you like, have some fun, y'know?" He puffed, out of breath from rushing all around the school delivering invites.

Nick grinned. "Yeah, man! See you there!"

Clay gave him a quick, friendly pat on the shoulder before walking out the door himself. Cold, small drops of water were falling from the sky. Clay frowned, he was hoping it wouldn't rain. A girl was complaining loudly about her makeup and hair getting ruined, while a tall boy shielded her with his jacket. Clay grumbled, using his binder as a makeshift umbrella. 

He agreed with the girl, fucking up your hair and makeup is the worst. 

Well, the worst annoyance.

He had experienced worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1018 words
> 
> wooooo im actually being productive for once haha -w- thanks again for all the support, i really appreciate it. btw in upcoming chapters there will be more intense trigger warnings, so be aware of that. though the worst ones won't be until much later. anyways, have a lovely day my little honeybees!!!


	5. "Yeah, that's just what I need." (George PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george, sweetie, listen to sappy nappy and get a fuckin social life smh my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol ive been copy-pasting all my notes from my fic on wattpad so it says its "late" even tho i literally just updated yesterday- lmao

George sighed, exhausted. He had had the longest day. After the incident in first period, he hadn't felt any better. Come lunch, he could barely eat at all. And unfortunately for George, Nick noticed. 

George was picking at his chicken sandwich, his appetite non-existent. His stomach was still tied in more knots than on a sailor's ship from this morning. Why had Honey-Leigh's words hit him so hard? As George sat in a gloomy corner, his head down in this state of brooding, Nick finally spoke up. He gently set his spork down.

"Hey, man, you've been acting weird all day. Something bothering you? Hopefully not that dumbass Jason and his pussy posse, they're a bunch of idiots."

George sighed, his head resting on his hand. "I don't know..."

Nick paused. "Is that what's bothering you?"

"Sort of? I guess that and something that girl Honey-Leigh said."

"What'd she say?"

George thought about his words, and delivered them carefully. "She said she liked me."

Nick's face lit up, and he raised his hand for a high-five. "AYYYYY THAT'S POGCHAMP BROOOOO"

George's face stayed solemn. "I rejected her. And then..." he stopped himself.

Nick was now confused, his hazel hair falling into his bewildered eyes. "Wait, what? You rejected her? Why? And then what happened?"

George took a breath. He couldn't meet Nick's conflicted eyes. "She took it well... but then she asked if I could be her gay best friend. Everyone's been saying I'm gay today, it's just been bothering me..."

Nick thought for a moment. He looked at George, and then back at his food. He then spoke gingerly, as if he was nervous what his words would do. "Are... are you gay? I mean, it's okay if you are, I'll always be here for you-" 

George interrupted the hazel-haired boy's rambling. "No, no, I'm not gay. Well I mean-" George stopped himself. "No. I'm not gay. Just the fact that they all think I am kinda bothers me, I guess. Even my dad thinks I am, and you know how he is."

"Well your dad's a bitch, and so is Jason. Honey-Leigh is confused, but she has the right spirit. Don't worry about what they think. You know what you are and I know what you are and that should be enough. You're a good person no matter who you wanna fuck."

George smiled tiredly. "Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it."

"Mhm! Now eat your goddamn food before I feed it to you like a mother bird." Nick grinned deviously.

"Okay, okay, relax!" George said, smiling now. He bit into his now mildly warm chicken sandwich, surprised at how hungry he was. 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, classes mixing together in George's brain, the mediocre amount of homework from each class not fazing him in the slightest. George worked on autopilot, his hands moving autonomously as his brain sat aloof in his skull. But He didn't complain. No thoughts were better than bad thoughts. Finally, the shrill sound of the dismissal bell rang out through the halls of the school, heralding the end of the day. George stood up from his rickety desk, grabbing his backpack and sliding his math textbook into it gently, careful to not crush the contents of his bag. He stumbled through the halls, doing his best to not get trampled by students eager to make it home. He managed to make it to the bus, the doors creaking open to let him inside. The damn thing sounded like what you'd imagine a steam engine would, so many puffs of exhaust.

George was just sitting down in his usual gray, torn-leather seat when he heard a high-pitched _ding!_ from his phone. He flipped it over in his hand so the screen was facing him. A little gray banner was across his lockscreen (a picture of him with his arm around.... _her._ He'd have to change that later, he'd make himself sick). It was a text from Nick.

_hey mamas man: ayyyyy gogyyyy whats goooooood_

_gogy: are you high_

_hey mamas man: i dont think slurring your words carries over into text lmao_

_gogy: so are you high or nah_

_hey mamas man: nah fam im not high_

_hey mamas man: oooo i did have some good news tho_

_gogy: what's up?_

_hey mamas man: so one of my friends from science invited me to a party at his place on friday. you wanna go with me? he said i could bring someone_

_gogy: idk man..._

_hey mamas man: cmon, gogy, you gotta get out there. its not healthy staying there with your shitty parents, you gotta live that nice high school experience._

_gogy: what is this, some cheap movie?_

_hey mamas man: nah fam, it's real life. thats why you actually gotta start doing things, you cant rewind this. once it passes, its gone. what would you rather look back on, stayin holed up in that hellhole of yours, or out partying and living your best life?_

_gogy: damn you sound like a guidance counselor, 'cept actually helpful_

_hey mamas man: thanks. so, you coming with me?_

_gogy: hm_

_hey mamas man: it'll do you some good. you need more social life_

_gogy: yeah, that's just what I need. i'll go. thanks nick_

_hey mamas man: yeaahhhhhhh man! that's my gogy! catch you tomorrow, alr?_

_gogy: sure dude. cya, bye!_

_hey mamas man: bye fammm_

George changed over to his music app, turning on some relaxing Clairo. Her soft voice traveled through his earphones and into his head, echoing like some sort of benevolent siren. He switched off his screen, the smooth surface going black. He stuffed it in his pocket and leaned his head on the cold glass of the window, gazing out at the scenery as the bus began chugging along.

He was going to a party on Friday.

Him. George.

At a party.

What had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 974 words
> 
> Hey guys! sorry this one was a bit late, i've been really busy all week but i finally got a chance to work on this in english class. some cool stuff is coming up soon, im thinking of skipping straight to the day of the party since there's not much else to do until then. the first few chapters were just exposition, but now we got some plot going! anyways, i hope you enjoyed, thanks for all the support! ily guys!


	6. The Party pt. 1 (George PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally some action smh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~This is fast forwarding to the day of the party~
> 
> Tw: mentions of self harm, implied eating disorder

George opened his eyes slowly, the soft sunlight creeping through his window. He rolled over sleepily to check his phone. _6:30 am._ His alarm hadn't gone off, but he'd woken up on time anyway. That was fine by him. He rolled out of bed and went to his closet, looking for something to wear. He was running his hand across the many fabrics when suddenly his phone let out a soft _ding!_ George picked up his phone uneasily. Who could be messaging this early? The dark gray banner on his phone informed him that it was Nick, reminding him of the party.

_Oh shit._

_The party._

He forgot that was today. 

George didn't plan on returning home after school today, he would go home with Nick and they'd head over to the party together. This meant that whatever George wanted to wear to the party, he'd have to take with him. He figured he might as well change into something at Nick's house, so he carefully chose an outfit and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag. Fortunately for him, his parents were leaving later that day to go tour a brewery a few towns over, and they'd be spending the night at a motel, so they wouldn't notice his absence. He made sure to also stuff his phone charger into his bag. He figured he didn't need much of anything else. 

George turned back to his clothes. It was time to pick out something to wear for school. It had been ingrained into his head from a young age to always pick out his clothes the night before school, but it always worked better for him to see how he felt that day, and to make his outfit match that. He decided on some gray jeans and a simple blue t-shirt tucked into the jeans. He wasn't putting much effort into his outfit today, he'd save that for later tonight. As always, he wore her delicate golden locket. Though it pained him, he wore it everyday. 

He pushed away his thoughts of her. Now was not the time. He didn't want to be sad now. He turned to his bathroom mirror, and gently picking up his hairbrush, he began running the bristles through his earth-colored locks. His mind wandered as he did so, turning to anxious ponderings of the party, thoughts of the girl whose necklace he wore daily, and the boy. George grumbled in frustration. All week it had been like this. The second his mind wanders, it turns to thoughts about the boy. He recalled what Jason and Honey-Leigh had said. They were wrong. Sure, the feeling of the boy's fingers brushing against his as he retrieved his vape pen was, interesting, but he didn't have a crush on him. George was straight as an arrow. His dad mocked him on his slightly girlish attire, but that didn't make him gay. George was a proud metrosexual. Besides, women love a well-groomed man. 

George stifled a laugh. His brain was starting to sound like his old friend Tommy, who went on and on about women. George was straight, but he could never be the charmer Tommy was, or at least thought he was. That boy did have a nasty habit of scaring away women with his remarks. At least he had the confidence.

And the attraction to women.

George was just setting his hairbrush down when he noticed the clearly visible lines on his forearms. Some were a faded white, while others still were a deep red, a contrast to his somewhat pale complexion. 

_Fuck,_ he thought. _No T-shirts for me_.

He grumbled as he went back to his closet in search of a white longsleeve to wear underneath. he quickly removed his shirt and replaced it with the longsleeve, before sliding back into the blue shirt, settling for a layered outfit.

He checked his phone. _7:10 am_. It was about time to leave. George quickly checked his bag, affirming that he had everything he needed. He slung the ebony bag over his shoulder lazily. He didn't have the energy to put it on properly. 

George gingerly walked down the steps, as if nervous to disturb the silence. Then he remembered that his parents already left, and he was free to be as loud as he liked. Still, that feeling of anxiousness bubbled at the base of his skull, bile boiling in his throat. He moved silently like a cat across the house. He didn't have an appetite today either, though that was normal for him. He hardly ever ate breakfast, same with dinner. It had all started when he saw how skinny the other kids were as a child, and he looked at himself. George was never fat, but he was thick enough that he felt like a disappointment. So he solved that the only way he knew how; restrict his calorie intake. Of course, the fact that there was almost never food in the house helped. Still, just like with his cutting habits, Nick knew and was actively discouraging it. Nick could always tell when George cut or didn't eat, and he didn't want to make him upset. So, he grabbed a granola bar and wolfed it down quickly, as if the speed at which he ate canceled out some of the calories. 

He hastily wiped his hands on his jeans and walked out into the cold air. He was instantly thankful he put on the longsleeve, otherwise he would've been freezing. He began the short trek to the bus stop, mind still wandering.

Wandering, yet always returning to the same blonde rest stop.

**At school, last period**

George sat anxiously in his math class, staring pleadingly at the clock. The day was almost over, and he just wanted to get this party over with. It was his first, and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. He hoped it wasn't as chaotic as high school parties are typically portrayed in the media, but he could only wait and see for himself. The clock ticked painfully slow, his teacher's monotone voice an insignificant hum buzzing in his ear, skirting the entrance but not quite flowing inside to be heard. Finally, the sweet release came when the artificial bell chimed, allowing their departure. He quickly stood up, sloppily grabbing his belongings and slipping out of the classroom, disappearing into the sea of relieved high schoolers.

Near the foyer, George managed to find Nick. Fortunately, Nick's house was in walking distance, so they could easily make it home. The hazel-haired boy bound eagerly up to George, like a dog reuniting with its owner after a long vacation. 

"Georgeeee, my mannnn, how's it going??? You excited for later??" He said peppily, as they began the short journey to Nick's house.

George gave the boy a small smile. "I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous. It's my first party."

Nick rolled his eyes and gesticulated wildly as he spoke. "Look, George, you're in your senior year of high school, mmkay? This is your last chance to really enjoy being a teenager, a real teenager. 19 doesn't count."

"I know, I know. I'm still going, I'll just be a bit nervous, that's all."

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. And I'll be there, so it's not like you'll be alone. Plus, it's my dude Clay who's hosting it, it'll be great."

"Okay, okay, I trust you," George relented.

Nick beamed. "As you should, Gogy. As you should."

The two boys halted their conversation as they approached the hazel-haired boy's house. Nick walked through the door and promptly hollered into the house, "MOM!! I'M HOME, HI!!"

"HEY NICK, HOW WAS SCHOOL?" A woman's voice shouted back.

"GOOD, THANKS. HOW WAS YOUR DAY?"

"ALSO GOOD. HAVE FUN AT YOUR PARTY TONIGHT, KIDS."

"THANKS MOM."

George winced. He'd forgotten how loud Nick and his family could be.

"Thanks, Mrs. Lovell..." he croaked out meekly.

Nick smirked, and guided George to his room upstairs. Once they were inside, George plopped down on Nick's bed, sitting slumped.

"Okay George, the party is at 8, so we got until about 7:15 to fuck off."

George smiled. "Cool."

The boys broke out Nick's PS4 controllers and began playing Minecraft for a few hours. Nick cheered as he blew up George's modest wooden house, and George turned the tables by setting all of Nick's beloved sheep loose. Both boys dissolved into a fit of laughter as they switched on creative mode and blew up everything in sight, continuing to destroy until the game crashed from so much lag. Just as their last laughs were being expelled from their lungs, the alarm Nick set rang. It was time to get ready for the party.

Nick went to his bathroom to change, and George went into his closet. Nick was out in about two minutes, but George took a full fifteen before he came out of the closet. When George walked out, Nick was sat on his bed on his phone. He wore some black jeans and a black longsleeve layered under a white shirt with a cute little flame on it. He was dressed casually yet stylish, in his typical manner. 

Nick's eyes widened as he saw George's attire.

The brunette was wearing some bootcut jeans, and a cerulean sweatshirt layered over a white button-up, the collar sticking out. He wore her necklace, as always. He even decided to be bold with his accessories, wearing a silver chain on his jeans, and with some white goggle-like glasses crowning his head and resting in his soft chestnut hair. He wore a weary look, as if he was embarrassed. 

Nick smiled through his shock. "Dude, you look amazing." 

George's face flushed, and he smiled timidly. "Heh, thanks. I wanted to look nice for my first party," his face perked up near the end. "And hey! You look great too!"

"We're gonna have so much fun! Let's go!"

The boys cheerfully barreled down the steps.

Mrs. Lovell watched them pass her in a hallway, and she smirked. They would have a nice time.

As the boys began the long walk to Clay's (Nick leading the way, as only he knew Clay's address), they rambled on and on about nothing in particular. 

After about fifteen minutes, they began approaching a house with many cars parked around it. It was only 7:45, but the party had started. 

The boys walked up to the door, and walked right in the unlocked entrance. People lounged on couches, chairs, tables, and countertops, snacking and socializing to their hearts' desire. They weaved through the crowds of people, in between couples and friends and total strangers. Nick made his way to the back, towards someone. George was gazing all around him, taking in the party scene. Music and lights and the scent of potato chips enveloped him. He absentmindedly followed Nick.

"Hey, Clayyyyy, my man, how's it going?" Nick greeted the host, his friend Clay.

Nick's sudden speech caught George's attention, and he turned to see Nick and the host, Clay. 

George's breath hitched. 

It was him.

George stood frozen for seconds, minutes, hours, days, he couldn't tell. Time blurred together as he watched the tall blond host joke and chat with Nick. Nothing else around him exist. He didn't even realize he was staring, or for how long. After what felt like forever, Clay's aloof gaze fell upon George, and they made eye contact. Hazy emeralds against roasted coffee beans. They stayed that way for a few seconds, making silent eye contact, before a flash of recognition overcame the blonde. Clay opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly interrupted by a loud shout near the front door. Everyone looked over to see an auburn-haired girl in a skimpy black dress hold up bags of bottles and what looked like cigarette packs, followed by three tall boys. George recognized the one closest to her as Jason.

The girl spoke. "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, BITCHESSSSSSS!!!"

Oh, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2009 words
> 
> woo, this chapter was a long one! the party will take up several chapters, so stay tuned! ily all!


	7. The Party pt. 2 (Clay PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heather is a bitch
> 
> like i despise her
> 
> i want to destroy her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: substance abuse, sexual assault/borderline rape, spiking drinks, mention of sex
> 
> proceed with caution!

Clay stood in his kitchen, pouring bags of potato chips into large plastic bowls. He glanced at the clock. 7:30. The party wasn't due to start for another half hour, but he knew attendees would be making their way over at that same time. He had just finished setting out all the food, and he had already set up a music playlist, a mix of his favorites and what was popular at the moment. Everything was ready to go. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit of his. It then occurred to him to check his reflection, to make sure he was good to go. He ran and slid over to a full length mirror near the front door, and examined himself. 

He was wearing a lime green button up (the sleeves cuffed and rolled up to his elbows) tucked into some torn black skinny jeans. He wore silver chains on his jeans and his favorite double-grommet black belt. Layered black chains hung from his neck, partially obscured by his collar. As always, Clay's favorite mushroom earring clung to his earlobe, and black eyeliner skillfully ringed his hazy emerald eyes. His fluffy blonde hair stuck out in every direction. He wore layered bracelets that matched his necklaces, and as a cherry on top, he had painted his fingernails black. He smirked in the mirror. He was ready to go, alright.

Just as Clay affirmed that he was ready, there was a knock at the door. Before he could even answer it, guests started pouring in. Clay made a small frown but quickly replaced it with a smile. He was determined to enjoy himself tonight. 

He strode over to his speaker and turned it on. Music began playing, though he didn't recognize the song. He had stuffed in songs he didn't personally listen to, for the partyers' enjoyment. He'd set up purple fairylights throughout the house, dousing the home in an intoxicating orchid glow, like some type of club. The chatter and laughter of the partygoers already filled the house, creating a relaxing, friendly environment. Clay shuffled over to the punch he had poured into a bowl, and filled up a red solo cup. He moved out of the kitchen and into the dining area, leaning against a wall and quietly sipping his punch. He gazed out into the crowd, and allowed himself to feel a little satisfaction. No matter whether he wanted to throw one or not, he threw some damn good parties.

After a few minutes of standing alone, he saw his close friend Nick Lovell walk up to him, with a small brunette in tow. Clay's face lit up. Nick was dressed up all fancy, and he looked happy to be there. 

"Hey, Clayyyyy, my man, how's it going?" Nick greeted him in his usual laidback manner.

"Ay, Nick, howya doin???" He replied, noticing the figure behind Nick freeze. Odd. He discarded the thought and turned his attention back to the cheerful hazel-haired boy. 

"Aw y'know, I'm just chillin' here. This is a nice party ya'got goin', by the way. How'd'ya get it set up so quick? It's got lights an' shit, it's like fuckin' Euphoria in here!" Nick's eyes squinted closed and his mouth twisted upwards roughly as his words dissipated into hearty laughter. Clay joined the laughter, his sound morphing into a loud wheeze reminiscent of a tea kettle.

"Yea-ah! All we need are some iconic lesbians!" He choked out in between wheezes.

"Well this is like, Walmart Euphoria, we'd probably get some gay dudes instead, so as to not get like copyrighted or some shit," Nick mused.

Clay exploded into a fit of uncontrollable, lung-emptying laughter. "WALMART EUPHORIA- WHAT THE FUCk-" he clutched his stomach, struggling to breathe. 

After a few moments of roaring giggles, they resumed their speech.

"So, anyways, how'd you come about throwing this party? Usually you only celebrate the end of the year," Nick queried. 

The blonde acquired a bored look, and blew air out of his mouth. "Heather pressured me into it."

The hazel-haired boy's face contorted into something that only read two words; _pissed off._

"Damn, that Heather is such a bitch. Why do you still hang around her, I thought you guys broke up?" 

"Oh, we did, we did. She just sits next to me in English and is always tryna call me those stupid pet names that she used to." Clay's gaze reached the floor as he recalled things he wished he hadn't. 

Nick's face softened. "I'm sorry bro. It's for the best that you broke up, she was always trouble and got you into a world of shit. You don't deserve that."

Clay met Nick's eyes and offered a small smile. "Thanks, man."

The blonde took advantage of the comfortable pause in conversation to survey his surroundings. The party was still teeming with life, people lounging on every surface and snacking on a variety of chips. His gaze then fell to the figure who stood behind Nick, who still hadn't spoken a word. Their eyes met, hazy emeralds against roasted coffee beans. Clay recognized those gentle brown doe eyes, those locks of chocolate hair, that perfect skin, his look of childlike wonder. It was the boy who returned him his vape. Clay fondly remembered his voice, how soft and melodious it was, like a benevolent siren. Why he remembered the boy, seeing as how insignificant the interaction was, Clay couldn't say. 

He was friends with Nick?

Clay opened his mouth to speak, when a commotion near the front door erupted. Everyone in the house turned their heads to see the red-haired menace that was Heather standing at the door in a slutty black dress. She had bags full of everything your parents told you to stay away from; beer, wine, vodka, cigarettes, joints, all the good stuff. She held them high above her head on display. Behind her was that son of a bitch Jason and his buddies. Clay clenched his jaw. Heather promised she wouldn't bring any boys. It was annoying enough that she was there. 

Still holding the bags of temptation, Heather shouted, "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, BITCHESSSSSSS!!!"

Everyone in the room cheered, except for Clay, Nick, and George. Crowds swarmed Heather as she distributed the substances, her boys still in tow. People scrambled to get their share of the loot, hands grabbing every which way as Heather sauntered across the threshold. Her bags had nearly emptied by the time she reached Clay's group. She looked him in the eye, smirking, whilst Clay fumed.

"Want some smokes, Dream Boy?" she said in a sultry voice, offering a small handful of pre-rolled joints. Clay snapped.

"You force me to throw this party on the one condition that you won't bring any boys, then you come to my house full of- of- substances, and you bring boys with you!!! And if that wasn't enough, you had the AUDACITY TO OFFER ME POT AND CALL ME THAT STUPID NICKNAME???!!!" Clay was practically shouting, but the other partygoers (who were becoming increasingly more intoxicated by the minute) couldn't hear him over their chatter and loud music. Nick and George stood speechless at the pair. 

"Oh come on, why not have some fun? I know my little Dreamie loves his smokes!" 

"I. Don't. Want. Smokes." Clay said through gritted teeth. 

Clay's eyes darted to the side of him, and met the brunette boy's again. He relaxed his jaw. This was no way to act in front of guests, even if Heather was being like this. He sighed, exasperated. 

"Sorry, Heather, but I'm trying to quit."

Heather made a pouty face. "Fineeeeeee, but will you at least go to your room with me so we can play video games? It's been so long since we've done that!"

Clay stole one last glance at his friends before relenting. 

"Fine, we can do that. Let's go. I'll grab us drinks, okay? The punch you made looks good."

Clay stared at her quizzically. "Okay, I'll meet you in my room, then."

Heather waved at him as he walked to his room, then parted from George and Nick to go grab drinks.

Clay reached his room and sat at the foot of his bed, across from his tv. By the time he had finished turning on his Xbox and starting up a new world in Minecraft, Heather had returned, two red solo cups in hand. She smiled sweetly and handed one to him as he sat down.

"Ooo, Minecraft? Haven't played that in ages!" Heather exclaimed as she sat down on the floor next to Clay, eyes glued to the screen. It was dark out by now, so the only light came from the illuminated tv and the orchid glow from the crack between the door and hardwood flooring. Even from upstairs, the lights still shone through the door. Clay gingerly took the cup he was offered, and muttered a small thanks in reply. He turned his attention to the screen. He absentmindedly handed Heather a controller, simultaneously taking a sip from his cup. The taste was a little sharper than he thought it would be. He made a mental note to not add so much carbonated soda to it next time.

The pair played for a while. Clay was focused on mining, while Heather wanted to make a cute little cottage for them to live in. Clay brought her back supplies, dropping stacks of wood, stone, and flowers for her to build. And, if he was feeling nice, maybe some iron or a diamond. After what felt like 30 minutes, Clay was finally starting to feel himself relax, more than he expected. He took a sip out of his punch, it still stung his lips a bit, but he didn't mind. Heather cracked a joke about Clay proposing when he gave her another diamond. Clay threw back his head and wheezed, and Heather joined in, their laughter mixing and combining for a perfect symphony. Clay wiped his eyes, still chuckling. He took another sip of his punch, and noticed Heather's eyes following him. He smirked. 

"Whatcha lookin' attttt, huh?" His words slurred a bit, as he tried to fake a 'cool' voice.

Heather smiled, still staring. "Just your sexy face is all."

"Whaat?" Clay sputtered.

"You heard me."

Clay's mind tried to figure out what was going on, but he couldn't think straight, his brain was muddled. Probably from all that Minecraft he just played. He chuckled again.

"Oh. Hah, okay." He turned his attention back to the game. 

He felt something warm on his arm, and turned his head. Heather was leaning on his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. She raised her hand to Clay's shirt, her finger tracing his chest.

"Y'know, Dreamie, I've been missing you lately."

Clay tried to wrap his head around what Heather was saying, but couldn't. He decided to question her, to try and figure out what she meant.

"You have?"

"Yeah, I have. I feel bad for cheating on you now, I was wrong."

Clay looked at Heather, surprised. She'd never admitted she was wrong before, especially not about that. Was this really happening?

"You do? F'real?" Clay said incredulously, his words still slurring a bit.

"Oh, yeah. Y'know, the whole time me and that guy were doing it," she leaned in to whisper her last words into Clay's ear, "I was thinking of you. I imagined you on top of me, I imagined it was you, inside me..."

Clay flushed, his eyes widening. Heather turned over, giving him a quick sly grin as she began to straddle him. Clay was so shocked, he wanted so badly to push her off, to do something, anything, but his muddled mind didn't know what to do, and his shock paralyzed him. Heather looked him in the eyes. Her dark blue irises revealed her intentions, as if her actions didn't already. Clay was scared. He mustered up a meek "Heather, please, no...." but the girl only whispered "shhhhh.... just enjoy it, Dreamie..."

Before Clay could mutter another protest, Heather closed the gap between them. Her hands pulled wildly at the blonde's hair, her lips smashing against his, her tongue pushing against his firmly closed mouth, demanding entry. After several minutes of fighting, she won. Heather's tongue explored Clay's mouth, and he began shaking. As the auburn-haired girl began moving her hands all over his body, her kisses growing stronger and fiercer, silent tears started streaming down the boy's face. He was trapped beneath her, he felt so... powerless. So... violated. He just wanted it all to stop, he couldn't believe that this was happening. Minutes ago, they had been laughing and joking, just playing Minecraft like friends. Now, his head ached and his body was screaming at him to push Heather off, but he couldn't. 

One of Heather's hands traveled down to Clay's pants, slowly slipping inside. Clay panicked even harder, and managed to physically struggle, attempting to push the girl off of him. But she stayed firmly where she was. Her hand slipped below Clay's boxers, making their way to a very sensitive place. Clay screamed, but Heather's mouth prevented any sound from escaping. She began stroking, and grinding her hips against his crotch. The boy was sobbing profusely now. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want Heather on him, he didn't want his head to be so fuzzy. He wanted to disappear. Fortunately, he got a small burst of strength just as Heather was pushing up the skirt of her dress, and managed to push her off. 

"Why??? Heather, I said no!" The blonde choked out between sobs. His whole body shook. He felt violated, disgusting, unclean. He felt sick.

Heather made a pouty face. "Oh, come on Dreamie, you need to loosen up! Here, why not have some more punch, and then we'll talk," she said, holding up his cup for him. The pale red liquid swirled in the cup tantalizingly. 

Clay thought for a second, before it dawned on him. His face contorted in rage, and he stood up to his full, staggering 6'3 of height. 

"You spiked my drink, didn't you???" He shouted, livid.

"I just wanted you! I thought it would loosen you up! We've been so distant lately-" she started, but Clay cut her off.

"We've been distant because we broke up, Heather! We broke up because you cheated on me! And now, here you are- _raping_ me! I should have known better than to trust you..."

The auburn-haired girl rolled her eyes dismissively. "Oh, come on Clay, you're a man. You could've pushed me off sooner if you didn't really want it." She turned her eyes back to him and grinned deviously. "And I _know_ you wanted it. _Bad_." she purred, a seductive tone slipping into her voice. Clay looked at her, disgusted. He couldn't believe this was the same girl he thought he loved only 6 months ago. The woman stood in front of him wasn't the Heather he dated. Or, maybe it was, and Clay was more naive than he figured. Once more, he broke down into a teary wreck. This always happened, he always got abused by the ones he thought he could trust most.

Heather merely scoffed. "You're such a fuckin' pussy, Clay. You cry like a little bitch. Run back home to your mommy, why don't you??? Oh, right, you can't, because mommy's never home, is she???"

Clay wiped his eyes and ran out of the room. He needed to get away from this. He wanted to forget this. He ran to the kitchen, his vision blurry from tears. Fortunately, Heather had given him the perfect idea of how to forget everything. 

As Clay was reaching for one of the big bottles on the granite countertop, a small figure bumped into him. The blonde looked down and was met with big brown doe eyes. He stared for a second too long.

"Uh, h-hello? C-Clay, is it?"

Clay snapped back to reality. "Oh, sorry, hah, yeah, that's me." His voice was still shaky. "Sorry for bumping into you, uh..."

"George."

Clay gave a small smile. What a cute name. "George. Yeah. Sorry man, I didn't see you there, I was just gonna grab a drink."

The small brunette boy stared at him quizzically for a moment, taking in his red eyes, stained cheeks, and shaky voice. Something was off, and they both knew it.

"Clay, are you alright?" George asked, concerned.

Clay had to bite his lip to stop himself from breaking down right then and there. He quickly grabbed a bottle of vodka and twisted off the lid, taking a big, long, sharp swig. The liquid stung his throat and numbed his brain, just like he wanted. It was strong; he knew much more of it and he'd never remember tonight. He saw George's wide-eyed stare, and he remembered he had to stay composed. 

"Y-yeah, 'm fine, just uh, real thirsty..."

Clay could see the gears turning in George's head. He bit his lip again, hoping he didn't scare the boy off. He just needed someone right now.

After a bit of thinking, George finally spoke. "Well, if you're going to be drinking like that, you should probably have like some supervision or something to make sure you don't do anything you'll uh, you'll regret. I would get Nick, but I think he's with a girl or something... So, uh, I guess I'll watch you." George quickly looked away, his cheeks flushed. He was clearly embarrassed. What about, Clay had no idea. The blonde was the one getting drunk and about to break down, the sweet brunette was just looking out for him. Clay felt a feeling in his heart, somewhere between a warm gratefulness and a pang of guilt. 

He decided he would focus on the good feeling. 

"Thanks, George."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2985 words
> 
> wow, another long one. sorry, this one took forever to write. and yes, the party still isn't over yet! there's at least one more part coming out. also, apologies if anyone was bothered by clay and heather's interaction, i did my best to warn you guys with the tw and openly angsty/edgy storyline. on a slightly unrelated note, i am still trying to plan out the fine details of where i want this story to go. be prepared for more and bigger timeskips. it's not me being lazy, necessarily, but i would like to finish this book in a timely manner, hopefully before the end of the year. as i've said before, things will get intense at times and there will be serious trigger warnings (as always i'll have them listed at the top of each chapter) but i promise there will be a happy ending lol. i do plan on adding as much buildup to dnf's inevitable get-together as possible, so i do apologize if this frustrates anyone. i'm already trying to plan out an equally epic get-together to counter it, so please hang in. again, thank you all so much for the support on this book! i know it's not as successful as a lot of other books, but it is my most-viewed one and the book i'm proudest of. thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy! (also if you could vote or share this with your friends, that would be lovely and would mean the world to me <3)


	8. The Party pt. 3 (George PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THOSE TWO DUMBASSES BUILD UP SOME PROPER TENSION, gosh DAMN IT ITS BEEN TOO LONG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i already know you guys, and you guys are gonna fuckin LOVE this chapter
> 
> it's my favorite so far
> 
> it was very fun to write
> 
> i hope you enjoy it
> 
> tehe

George gazed up at the tall blonde's face. His eyes were hazy but haunted, and red-rimmed. Something had happened, but he didn't know what. When the boy had spontaneously started chugging vodka, only to claim he was thirsty, the petite brunette knew something was up. An idea sprang into his head.

"Well, if you're going to be drinking like that, you should probably have some supervision or something to make sure you don't do anything you'll uh, you'll regret. I would get Nick, but I think he's with a girl or something."

George hesitated for a split second, not even noticeably before speaking again.

"So uh, I guess I'll watch you." George's cheeks flushed and he looked away in embarrassment. He was being bold, and he wasn't used to the feeling. The brunette almost exploded into a red mess all over again when he caught sight of the tall boy staring at him quizzically. Fortunately for him, his anxiousness was eased slightly when the golden-haired boy gave him a soft smile.

"Thanks, George."

George looked back up at the boy and returned his smile, feverish cheeks still resembling fresh strawberries. The brunette cleared his throat and thought for a moment before nervously stammering again.

"S-so, uh, what would you like to do? This is your house, know any good spots for hanging out?"

The blonde smiled a toothy grin and nodded. "Yeah, I know a place where no one will bother us."

George smiled sheepishly, and let the taller boy guide him upstairs. The pale boy found a strange comfort in the familiarity of the creaks the old wooden stairs made as they stepped. He noticed how light and gentle Clay's footsteps were, trained to be silent. He wondered for a moment why this was, but only for a moment. Before George could think too deeply, Clay had already grasped George's sleeve gently, carefully bringing him along to a glass-paned door on the outside wall of the house, not far from the top of the staircase. The brunette fought back a blush. They passed by teenagers lounging on chairs and rugs and couches, lavender light filling their eyes and spilling out the windows. Smoke from the many substances they lit made the air hazy and thick, tendrils of delicate gray smoke curling around their noses and fingers. George caught a whiff, the strange aroma entering his system. He decided he wasn't too fond of the scent, and scrunched his nose in mild disgust. He turned his attention to the tall blonde in front of him, his strong hands still grasping George's sleeve and leading him to the door. Clay turned the brass handle and held open the old door for George. The door led to a plain but somewhat large wooden balcony, that doubled as a roof for the porch below. Cool night air rushed inside, stinging George's cheeks and making him more aware of his surroundings. The balcony was bathed in the lilac light from inside, muffled music and smoke pouring out through the doorway. The smaller boy looked Clay in the eyes and he walked uncertainly through the door. The blonde's arm was outstretched, welcoming George outside. George fully expected him to say something dumb like "Ladies first," but his mouth stayed cemented in a small smile, his eyes locked on George, filled with a warmth that the brunette couldn't identify. 

George took a small step onto the platform, surveying it further. He heard the door close quietly behind him, and Clay move to stand next to him. Two rickety wicker chairs stood facing each other on one side of the platform, and a large wicker bench was on the far side of the balcony. Clay whispered to George, his breath warm against the brunette's ear.

"Share the bench?"

The blonde brushed past the smaller boy as he made his way to the bench. He swung his long legs over the seat, facing the railing. He ran his fingers over the balustrade, the smooth surface allowing his fingers to glide along the faded oak. He was solemn, and quiet. He slowly turned his head to meet George's gaze. With his left hand, he quietly patted the empty space next to him, motioning for the small brunette to have a seat. George took a deep breath and obliged. The bench was rickety and old, but it could hold both of them just fine. 

The pair sat in silence for awhile, gazing at the night sky above. Soft, muffled music flowed around them in a gentle current, melting into the pre-existing sounds of crickets and the occasional passing car. From Clay's balcony, they could see into the yards of many homes. Some were dark and barren, others had some trees. One home had a beautiful garden, well-kept and blooming with flowers that shone in the moonlight. In one yard, a window glowed yellow. The silhouettes of two figure moved closer for a sensual embrace, which flowed into a gentle kiss.

If only-

"It's so calm out here. All that loud music was starting to give me a headache." Clay broke the silence, speaking softly as if to ease into sound.

George let out a small chuckle. "That might just be the vodka."

The blonde smiled. "Probably. They are pretty loud, though."

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence settled between the two. It was short and sweet, embracing them in a sense of safety. George wondered how safe the boy next to him felt.

"Hey, Clay?" George began, tentatively.

"Mhm?"

George looked at the stars for a moment, and took a deep breath.

"Are you okay?"

Clay turned his eyes to the smaller boy, who gazed at him earnestly. George panicked inwardly at the look of bewilderment he was given, the boy's forest eyes full of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Like- uh, you just seemed really upset earlier, you looked like you'd been crying, and I uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay-" George rambled on, cut off by Clay raising a finger and pressing it to the brunette's soft lips, making a gentle shushing sound with his own mouth. George hoped he hadn't turned as red as he felt he had. Clay smiled at the boy, eyes flickering with the flame of some unrecognizable emotion. The blaze mirrored the own inferno George currently felt melting his face, his gentle porcelain skin being fired in the kiln of Clay's gaze. 

"Hey, George. It's okay. No need to stutter." Clay spoke warmly, comforting the smaller boy. He slowly moved his hand to cup George's cheek, giving him one more flaming glance before setting his hand down by his side, and continuing on with his speech. George stared at the boy in front of him, mouth slightly open in shock, and eyes wide as cherry pies.

"I was just having some... trouble... with my ex-girlfriend, and it really shook me up. She did some things that I really wish she hadn't..." Clay paused to take a shaky breath before resuming. "But I can't do anything about that now." The blonde's eyes met George's briefly once more. "Thanks for caring though, man. Means a lot."

"Oh, uh, o-of course!" George grinned weakly.

After a few more moments of that oh-so-familiar silence, the brunette heard Clay speak again.

"Things just happen when you fall out like that, y'know?" Clay queried.

"I suppose so."

"Have you ever experienced that?" Clay asked again, his strong stare known and purposefully avoided by George.

"Can't say I have. Never been in a relationship." George's voice trailed off, nervous that Clay would make fun of him. His hand migrated to the gold locket around his neck, and he began fiddling with the chain, an anxious habit of his that he hardly ever noticed. 

To his relief, the tall boy did not make fun of him. He merely kept on talking, as if this fact (which was embarrassing for George) wasn't a problem. 

"That's okay. I kinda wish I hadn't gotten with Heather and just waited for someone better to come along, so you're the smart one here. Would you ever want one though?"

"A what? A relationship?"

"Yeah! Like a girlfriend." Clay paused, but George sensed he wasn't finished talking.

"...or boyfriend."

The blonde's words hung ominously in the air around them, between them, and over them, demanding acknowledgment but receiving none. George wanted to protest, to clarify that he would only ever be looking for a girlfriend, but the words stayed in his throat. His tongue stuck stubbornly to the roof of his mouth, not allowing any sound whatsoever to pass. Why couldn't he say anything? Why was he stuck in uncertain silence?

He could almost feel Clay's eyes on him, staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to either confirm or deny his statement. But George couldn't say a thing. The brunette's face was heated, burning from the warmth radiating from the taller boy's eyes. George decided that at that moment, Clay's eyes were less of earthy gemstones and more of intoxicating radioactive crystals. But that didn't make them any less beautiful to stare at.

Wait, what?

Neither boy broke the silence. They let themselves cling to any sound around them, desperate for any life outside of this ever-thickening tension. The first sound they both heard was neither the crickets or the gentle hum of teenagers' drunken chatter, but a muffled song. It took George a moment to recognize (as this particular genre wasn't one he frequented when he listened to music), but Clay seemed to recognize it almost instantly. The blonde subtly swayed to the tune. If he wasn't mistaken, it was Waterfalls Coming Out Your Mouth by Glass Animals. 

_Drip drop, gimme what you got_

_Your talk is incredible_

_So, so, so unusual_

_You taste like surfing videos_

George boldly met Clay's eyes again, staring once more into the blinding fire. The blonde did the same to him, the roasted coffee beans seemingly inviting him in, begging for him in the tall boy's drunken haze. Clay couldn't help but voice his thoughts.

_I'm gonna read your mind_

"You have pretty eyes."

"W-what??" George stammered, taken aback.

"They're dark, and pretty."

"I- um, thank you... I, uh, like your eye-eyeliner..." George quickly returned a quip about Clay's eyeliner, too scared to acknowledge how deeply he had gazed into his actual eyes. His bright, shamrock eyes...

"Can I do something? Please?" The blonde's voice was barely at a whisper. George's breath hitched.

"Yes."

Clay leaned in close to George's face, their breaths mixing. Clay's left hand raised to cup the brunette's face for a second time that night. His hands were calloused, but they might as well have been soft as angel's wings. The lingering scent of vodka filled George's nose, blending with the sweet aroma of the cherry flavor from the punch that was being served downstairs. George had begun to close his eyes when he saw Clay's other hand rising up, holding some sort of strange utensil that resembled a pencil. He raised the utensil to George's eyelids.

Eyeliner.

Oh.

Clay urged George to lean back, laying down on the bench. The blonde straddled the boy beneath him, and with a practiced hand, he began painting George's eyelids. The nighttime chill made the brunette painfully aware of how cold the liquid was. They were so close, George could taste the scent of Clay's laundry detergent; lavender. 

Clay had soon finished the eyeliner, being used to doing it often. He pulled out his phone, and handed it to George, allowing him to use the camera to check it. The makeup was a dark black, elegant and complementing his eyes beautifully. George handed the other boy his phone back, and he swiftly slipped it back into his pocket. Clay's hand remained on the small boy's porcelain face. His emerald eyes surveyed the face before him, taking in all its doll-like features. His perfect, pale skin, his red lips, his big, doe eyes... Hershey only wished it could be as chocolate-y and rich as the eyes Clay found himself enchanted by. 

"Delicate..." Clay whispered, his voice barely audible. 

"W-what...?"

"You. Your face, it's soft. I like it."

_Waterfalls, comin' out your mouth_

_What the hell are we doing now?_

"C-clay, you're drunk, you need to stop talking-" George stammered, but was interrupted by the blonde. 

"You know what they say, George. A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts." 

_Waterfalls, tearing you apart_

Lavender and cherry mixed on the brunette's tongue, his mouth open in shock. The boy above him was still burning hotter than ever, and leaning over George so close, their eyes seeing nothing but the others', George became engulfed in the flames. Clay's calloused thumb stroked George's baby-soft cheek. The tall blonde murmured inaudibly, not that George could hear him even if he was shouting; he was too lost in the blaze.

_What the hell are we doing now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2133 words
> 
> aaaaa it's been forever since i last posted, i'm so sorry- also! this chapter was like a mini-songfic towards the end, cuz i've been listening to that song all week on repeat- xweufxgbwulfgwfuxwngfo2ug- i might do more chapters with songs in the future, but eh that wasn't my plan so don't expect too many. anyways, things got a bit ~spicy~, just how we like it hehe. i know you probably expected some kissies, but not yet!!! mwahhahhaa you gotta wait -w- anyways, thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this! please share the fic or vote or something, it helps me out -w- have a wonderful day honey!!!!


	9. a/n

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um lol

eeeeeeeeeeeeeee okay so uh

idk if you've seen the news or whatever

or maybe this hasn't affected too many countries outside of my own

but uh

winter storms are not poggers

and basically i wasn't able to write for over a week because they've hit my town hard

so uh

sorry for basically disappearing

ill be posting a chapter later todayyyyy

but if i remember correctly that's the last of my prewritten chapters

cuz if you didn't know, i originally posted this fic on wattpad but have been slowly posting it here

so chapters will be farther inbetween

but i will still try my best on them, i don't intend to rush

but anyways

have a lovely dayyyyyy <3

thank you for all your supporttttt -w-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter later todayyyyyy


	10. The Party pt. 4, Aftermath (George Pov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw when your crush is so intense you just gotta nximlgzwgwwwyngxc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mental distress, teasing/homophobia

_What the hell are we doing now?_

George's thoughts echoed the lyrics of the song, the words fading into an eerie and lustful instrumental, until even that faded into the night. As the music quieted and the mood was changed, George reacted. He stared into the eyes of the boy above him, those glowing, magnetic eyes. George's breath hitched.

"C-clay-"

"Yes, George?" Clay whispered quietly, his voice full of that same unknown emotion that George was slowly beginning to recognize. 

"It- it's late, I have to go- uh, you should, you should probably go to sleep, that way you don't get up to anything you'll regret-" George stammered, heavily anxious and unsure of how to say what he wanted to. Fortunately for the brunette, the tall blonde saw the panic in George's cocoa eyes and lifted himself from the bench, and stood next to it. George felt those piercing green eyes on him as he tentatively sat up, legs stretched out and leaning on his hands. There was a few seconds of silence and staring before Clay placed his hand gently on the smaller boy's porcelain cheek, giving it one last caress before stepping back. George could feel the restraint in Clay's touch, he could see the turmoil in his face.

"Goodnight, George." Clay breathed out hastily, before retreating back into the bustling house. He avoided eye contact with the boy on the bench, eyes looking anywhere but in his direction. He closed the door with a soft _click_ , and left the brunette to watch his tall figure move through the house and slip inside his bedroom. George sighed breathlessly. As he went to sit up further, he noticed a small, black, stick-like object on the bench where Clay had been only a little bit ago. He gingerly picked up the object and held it closer to his face to identify it. 

It was Clay's eyeliner.

George's hand subconsciously reached up to his face, his fingertips brushing the corners of his eyes, and trailing down to his cheek. Both the places Clay had touched him in. The brunette closed his eyes, and he could still imagine it was Clay's hand on his cheek rather than his own. George exhaled into his own touch, sighing the blonde's name.

_Clay..._

George eased his eyes open. Upon realizing what he had just said, his hand shot down to his side, and he sprang up from the bench. The weak wicker groaned in protest. George's breathing became frantic, his confused heart racing a mile a minute. He wasn't expecting to be in this situation, to have this feeling welling up inside him, to have felt so strange when staring into those intoxicating uranium eyes... He just needed to get out. The panicky brunette shoved the eyeliner in his pocket and rushed downstairs, the door slamming behind him. He tried not to breathe in the hazy smoke emitting from baked teenager's blunts, coughing sporadically as his footsteps banged upon the wooden steps. Despite all the ruckus George was making, nobody payed him any mind. They were too busy dancing to music, chatting, and getting even further under the influence. The air was pungent with the stench of alcohol, weed, and cigarette smoke. George's eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for Nick. George moved around the crowd, searching for a familiar mop of hazel hair.

Finally, George spotted the boy. It was a bit difficult, since his back was to George, as he was facing a wall. The brunette's nose scrunched slightly, trying to not look directly at him. Nick had pinned a small figure with fluffy brown hair and a multicolored (but primarily purple) color-block hoodie, and the couple were aggressively making out, hands going everywhere, loud sounds filling their corner of the room. George coughed, trying to get Nick's attention. Nick looked up with swollen cherry lips and eyes hazy with lust, bewildered. The figure in front of him was panting. Nick looked down and spotted George, and instantly his face turned as red as the flame he adorned on his shirt. He turned to face George, strategically blocking the person in the purple hoodie. 

"Ohmygod, George-" Nick started, his voice a messy blend of panic and embarrassment, the words rambling off his tongue in a hurry.

"I'm so sorry Nick, I didn't mean to interrupt anything, but we gotta go." George cut him off.

"Wait, why? Are you okay? Did something happen?" Nick switched over to worrisome best friend mode, instantly trying to assure that his friend was okay.

"It's fine, I don't wanna talk about it. But don't worry. Let's just go, I wanna get home. It's like, midnight, anyways." George chose his words carefully, trying to come up with a reason that wouldn't reveal the truth, but wouldn't make Nick afraid. George bit his lip in frustration, already knowing his reasoning was far from good enough. Not that there was much he could do about it now, anyways. George grabbed Nick's ebony sleeve and dragged him towards the door, trying to ignore the way the hazel-haired boy looked back at the person in the purple hoodie, who in turn stared longingly back at the taller boy. George felt a pang of guilt rising in his throat.

After they had exited the house and stood on the porch, the cool night air circling them, George felt a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding escape. He felt relieved. The two boys walked silently away from the house, on the way back to Nick's house. George would've stayed the night at Nick's, but his parents would be back tomorrow and would notice he was gone, so he just planned to walk the tired boy to his house, and go home by himself. It was a long walk, but George didn't mind.

After they'd gotten a few blocks away from the still-raging party, George finally spoke.

"I'm sorry to drag you away from that girl, man. We just had to go. Did you get her number at least?" George apologized, still trying to be hopeful.

Nick had a small look of confusion, then sighed. "Gi-? Oh. Yeah, it's okay, I get it. And yeah I did get her number so that's cool. I'll probably call her later. But are you okay? I know it's your first party and all, but you seemed hella scared there." Just as George predicted, his hazel-haired friend was still worrying. The brunette sighed deeply. 

"I'm fine. Just got to be a little much for me, y'know? I'm glad you had a fun time though." George said in a somewhat restrained tone. The both of them knew that wasn't it, but to the smaller boy's relief, Nick didn't push any further. 

Soon enough, the duo arrived at Nick's house, and George walked him to his door. They said kind but chaste goodbyes, and George walked away as soon as the door closed in front of him. The night was cold, so he was glad he wore such a cozy sweater. Being alone, he unintentionally let his mind wander. His thoughts kept racing back to Clay, the green eyes which stared him down, the calloused hands which were so unexpectedly gentle, painting the skin around his eyes delicately.

_Delicate._

That's what Clay had called him. 

George could still hear his voice echoing in his ears, deep and powerful.

How could something so overpowering speak such soft, loving words?

George noticed he had been fiddling with his necklace just as he walked up to his front door. He slapped his palm to his forehead, frustrated that a simple interaction with the blonde had him so worked up. It's not like it was important, much less intimate. There wasn't anything special about it. Just two acquaintances hanging out, nothing more. Why the hell was George still thinking about this?

The tired brunette pushed the door open, the poorly-oiled hinges creaking as both George and the night breeze were swept inside. George pushed the wood slab closed behind him, taking care to lock the brass handle. He walked straight up the stairs (which whined with every step) to his room, gently closing the door behind him. Without even bothering to get dressed or even wipe off his makeup, he flopped down on his bed and instantly fell asleep, the events of the night hitting him all at once, causing exhaustion to course through his veins.

**At school, on Monday**

The rest of George's weekend had been uneventful. He was able to wash off his eyeliner the next day before his parents got back, and they were none the wiser. He stayed in his room most of the time, avoiding his parents, like he usually did on weekends. Though even by himself in his room, he didn't feel quite alone. Some immaterial presence lingered with him, hands on his face, chest-to-chest, warm breath on his tongue. George could still taste the sweet, aromatic blend of lavender and cherry. He didn't think he'd ever forget it. 

George's morning had gone as usual, as well. He got dressed (a cream-colored sweater half-tucked into some skinny jeans, with a crisp black belt to top it off), grabbed his things, endured some comments from his dad, left the house, and got on the bus. Upon arriving at school, the brunette boy was hit with the feeling of every blonde tuft of hair he saw, anything and everything bearing the color green, and any tall, tan-skinned person igniting something in him, bringing the same image to his mind. A shockwave of raw emotion passed over him. George was drowning in the tide. He needed to get away from people, and fast. He dashed inside, not even bothering to search for Nick. His footsteps echoed somewhat loudly through the halls as George made a beeline for the restroom, but no one payed him any mind. 

His hands clenched the sink counter, his knuckles white as snow as he gazed into his reflection. His hair was neat and his clothes were clean, he looked presentable. But one glance into George's coffee-brown eyes and you'd instantly see how much of a wreck he was. Panic danced in his pupils, his irises reflecting the turmoil he felt in his heart, and every little lightning strike in his brain. They were the eyes of a broken man. Could George even call himself a man? 

His fingers reached subconsciously up to the skin by his eyes. How could he still feel the soft tip of the eyeliner pressing against his skin, painting it black? He remembered something he had kept (albeit guiltily) in his pocket, and he pulled it out, holding the eyeliner pen in his trembling hands. He hated how he'd become so attached to that damned stick. With shaky fingers, he pulled the cap off and leaned over the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror. He brought the pen to his face. With one last frantic glance at himself, one last thought of _"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??",_ he began to mimic the way Clay had decorated his face so elegantly. 

George snapped the cap back into place, shoving the pen in his pocket. He stepped back from the mirror, not yet daring to look up. He took a deep breath, and did the very thing he feared. His eyes gazed back at him, now ringed in a delicate ribbon of black, forming a near-perfect cat-eye. Just like Clay's. George groaned, his head in his hands (though he was careful to not smudge his makeup). He sighed, trying to pull himself together. The bell would ring soon, he couldn't stay in the bathroom for much longer. And he couldn't be such a panicky wreck if he were to leave the facilities. He took some deep breaths, and managed to calm himself down enough to walk away. Just as he was nearing the door, a group of three boys (all significantly taller than him) walked in. George looked up and recognized one of their faces.

_Shit._

It was Jason and his "pussy posse," as Nick called them. 

The recognition was, unfortunately, mutual.

Jason's lips curved into a sharp smirk, his hazel eyes burning with malice. He ran his caramel fingers through his sandalwood hair. 

"Heyyyyyyy, buddyyyy. I remember you!"

One of the boys behind him, a pale boy with blonde hair, giggled. He looked like a weak, watered-down version of Clay. A xerox of a xerox, if you will. 

George gulped. "Y-you do?"

"Yeah, 'course I do! Don't you guys remember him?" He turned to his friends, directing the query at them. 

"I sure do. I'd recognize that face anywhere," the third boy spoke. He was buff, and had chocolate hair like George's. But his ocean-blue eyes didn't hold the same kindness that George's did. 

"Same here, Brad. The face of a f*ggot is unmistakable." His venomous words slithered out through his teeth, spreading through George's blood like a deadly toxin. George's breath hitched.

The blonde spoke next. "Look at his makeup! Who are you, James Charles? Getting all prettied up to go choke on some 12-inch cock?" The words stung like wasps, just as painful as bees but able to be inflicted multiple times.

The buff one, Brad, guffawed. "HA! As _if_ this bitch could score 12 inches. Look at that face, he has to use makeup to look halfway decent. As if anyone would want those grimy teeth on their dick."

Jason leaned down to George, sliding his hand onto his cheek, holding it gently. George's eyes widened. The boy laughed loudly, painfully so, into George's face. He stood up to his full height. 

"HAH! Pathetic little bitch! Got all flustered from that! You're _disgusting_."

The boys started walking away, getting bored of harassing George. Before leaving completely, Jason threw another comment over his shoulder, sharp as a knife. 

"We both know you only want a big, strong man because you're too much of a pussy to ever be one yourself."

And with that, George was alone again. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he stood, frozen. His heart raced, and his breathing quickened. At that moment the bell rang, and he swiftly made his way to class, taking caution to not meet anyone's eyes, for they'd surely see the crystalline tears in his own. George inwardly cursed himself.

Jason was right.

He'd never be a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2398 words
> 
> aaaaaa i am SO sorry!!! this took forever to write, i lost motivation at one point and i haven't been feeling well. i hope this chapter was satisfactory, tbh it was kinda hard to follow up the previous one. anyways, i hope you enjoyed, stay tuned for more!!! tysm for 600 reads, i love you guys and im so grateful for the support! have a wonderful day, my little honeybees!!


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